


sea water

by demisms



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demisms/pseuds/demisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"And you must not be afraid of death. You cannot scream and cry and kick at it, you cannot fight it, so you must open your arms as wide as Death opens his, and know him as you know your family."</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p>written for the asoiaf kink meme<br/>alannys and theon - she makes him drink nightshade before Ned arrives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sea water

"But Mother -"

"Hush now, my love," she cut him off, thin fingers caressing his face to slow his words. She knows what he is to say, knows he is going to say he does not understand, that he doesn't want to go to bed early because it is still light out, doesn't want to stay holed up in his room because Asha had promised to show him something interesting. She knows his complaints, as they are the same every night. But she also knows that they are running short of time. 

Her hand moves to his hair, brushing the soft locks affectionately. They are too long, they creep into his eyes and he had developed the habit of tossing his head every couple of minutes to sweep them away. Balon complains of it. But she likes it, likes brushing it and likes burying her face in his soft curls when she kisses the top of his head, likes the smell of it clean or dirty. At the age of nine, Rodrick and Maron had taken to shaking her off, and Asha had chopped off all her hair in an attempt to be like them, but Theon still came into her touches, still leaned into her arms and returned kisses to her cheeks; Theon was still a baby and it warmed her heart. 

It shattered her heart as well. 

"But, _Mother_ -"

" _Hush!_ "

His mouth is open, but he closes it at her tone; sharp and demanding, confusing at the same time and he knits his brow before she brushes her thumb over his forehead in an attempt to smooth the furrows from his skin. 

"Hush, sweetling," she soothes again, softer this time. "Hush, and I have a story to tell you."

This causes him to brighten, to perk up and smile at her - all baby teeth and an excited pink tongue that darts past his lips like a nervous twitch. He liked stories, liked the ones that his father's men told him at dinners, the ones his sister told him when they went walking on the coasts, and the ones his older brothers told him when they weren't pinching him, or threatening to throw him off the rope bridges. Or...had. Had, the stories his brothers _had_ told him, about war and guts and blood and glory; at times he almost thought they were telling him how they were going to die - like the old war heroes in the stories - but somehow, in the wake of their deaths and in the last three days it had taken for his lord father to decide to yield, there had been no glory; only blood. His smile falters a little.

"What sort of story?" he asks shyly, fingers curling in the blankets. 

"A good story," Alannys promises, sweetly, and her hands trail down to lay over his and calm his searching fingers. "A story of the sea, and those who loved it. Do you know what comes from the sea, Theon?"

_Northerners._

"We do," Theon beams up at her, wriggling down in his bed excitedly. It was a story he had not heard before, but it felt as if he knew. "Greyjoys!"

"Yes, yes my love, the Greyjoys do. The great, golden krakens and the masters of the waters. Some say that the Drowned God was a man who turned into a kraken when he walked into the waves with rocks tied to his belt. In the moment before his death, he opened his eyes and looked not to the surface as many drowning men do, he did not beg for air, but to the depths which he had not reached yet. In that moment, his love for the sea was so much that the powers in the water could not ignore it. They turned the rocks at his belts into long, slippery legs; gave him gills to breathe and made him one of them - a powerful being, and a bridge between man and sea. Do you know what his name is, Theon?"

The boy doesn't answer immediately, takes his time to think and flick his tongue out past his lips again, wetting them before saying: "The...The Drowned God?"

"No, love. No, his name was Death. A long time ago, and many have forgotten that now, but his name is Death and when someone from the sea - like him - passes on, he welcomes them with open arms." Her hands are shaking gently against his, so she grips his fingers tightly; so very tightly, as if she hopes that the feel will drive home and impress upon him fully the weight of her words. "You must remember his name, my precious boy. You must remember - say it."

He is taken aback, but murmurs demurely; "Death..."

"And you must not be _afraid_ of death. You cannot scream and cry and kick at it, you cannot fight it, so you must open your arms as wide as Death opens his, and know him as you know your family." Her voice shakes, too. A single fat tear rolls down the Lady Greyjoy's face, and she thinks her son is moving his hand to wipe it away, sweet boy that he is, but she only grips his fingers tightly trapped by her own. "He already knows your brothers."

He's blinking at her, and she's reminded what pretty, light green eyes he has. They are less grey than his siblings, and shine brightly as if he is always on the brink of tears; they are pretty and kind, adventurous but not brave. In their depths there is always doubt, fear and shame that he does not quite know what to do with. If she could, she would have assuaged that look before he reached manhood, but there was no time for that now. Stark would be here within hours; time was as precious as her boy, her last boy. 

"He knows your brothers and they know him; they are with him now, Theon. And one day your father will be as well, and I. Asha, too. And we will have all met him bravely, strongly - as you must."

He fidgeted slightly, and pursed his lips shyly - second guessing - before he spoke. And when he did, his voice was small, smaller than he and Theon was a small baby. Small and shy and unsure as he shared fears she knew he would. "But... But, Mother, what if I'm not strong enough to do that."

She nearly cried. But instead removed a hand from his, reached for the cup at the bedside table. 

"I have something for you, Theon," she told him and urged him to sit up before she could press the cup into his hands. They are fat hands, childish and clumsy at everything but a bow string, and they grip the stem of the iron goblet with a significant lack if surety. 

"What is it?"

"It's a drink," she explains sweetly, and cannot feel the pain from kneeling in cracked stone past the pain in her heart. "A drink from the sea. It will make you strong, dear heart, so you can face death. Drink up, it tastes good."

He beams at her, all baby teeth and over excited tongue. And he drinks. 

-

Hours later, when she bears the cold and limp body to the main hall, Alannys Harlaw lays the corpse at Lord Eddard Stark's feet with as much tenderness as if he were still living; merely sleeping. She had knelt, too, refused to leave the body as she gazed up at the Northern lord through the shocked silence that filled the entire hall. 

Her eyes are red rimmed and her hands shake desperately, but when she speaks, her voice is that of the sea and crashes over them all like waves on a rock. 

"Now," she announces mournfully. "You have killed _all_ my sons."


End file.
